The angel of spring, the mellow-throated nightingale.

Hark! that's the nightingale, Telling the self-same tale Her song told when this ancient earth was young: So echoes answered when her song was sung In the first wooded vale.

We shall escape the uphill by never turning back.

Spring bursts to-day, For Christ is risen and all the earth's at play.

One by one the flowers close, Lily and dewy rose Shutting their tender petals from the moon.

A sister is one who reaches for your hand and touches your heart.